


Hazbin Hotel: One-Shots

by LadyRWidow



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Angel!Charlie, Eldritch!Charlie, F/M, Gen, Other, classical language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRWidow/pseuds/LadyRWidow
Summary: Literally one-shots (Less than 1k words) because I'm horrible with multi-stories and I figured with the situation in which I'm stuck in the house, I might as well do something.You'll notice a lot of flowery, victorian-esq/romanticism writing here.Chapter 1: Eldritch/Ethereal!CharlieChapter 2: ?
Kudos: 10





	Hazbin Hotel: One-Shots

**Author's Note:**

> Ethereal/Eldritch Charlie is my jam (and i mean BOTH TOGETHER). I’ve got a short thing that I’m just gonna throw down here…i
> 
> I'll take requests for prompts in the comments, but also on my tumblr: dragonshoard.tumblr.com
> 
> (I primarily do charlastor in the shipping department, but I also do chaggie)
> 
> Words: 779

When Charlie was very young, she used to have nightmares that had her bolting upright in her bed. She would scream her head off until her ears rang and her mother would come to sooth her. On those nights she wouldn’t - couldn’t - go back to sleep. She’d stare up blankly at the canopy that reminded her of dripping blood with the delicate chiffon. Her mother would press her lips to the princess’ ear, singing her melody that had lured a thousand men to their early graves throughout the centuries. This song was for her and her alone and, yet, there was no comfort or relief.

With her mother running talons through her nigh on white locks, all she could hear were the damned wailing and sobbing. 

Her mother’s voice was no gift to her.

Her eyes would always hurt the next morning, burning from the inability to turn her eyes away from the horrors she had conjured. Charlie’s skin ached and stretched almost unnaturally, as if waiting for the proper moment to tear and reveal the void underneath her skin. 

And the void stretched so wide that it eagerly consumed every bit of her that it could claim; from words (snatched before they could be conceived in thought) to sensation (that was so precious to her, yet hurt her just as often as not). 

She was hollow underneath the flesh. That was something she had accepted a long time ago. She fought desperately for every smile, every laugh, both gifted and forced.

Her father had once lived for that smile, had shown her a desperate amount of kindness to see it, so she gave him the biggest smiles he could have ever dreamed of. Unfortunately, the devil quickly grew bored of it. Of her.

As a child she was a novelty; something to puppeteer and show off to like minded demons. He pawned her off to her mother when the child had lost her appeal.

So quickly she had become nothing. And to nothing she remained even in her mother’s embrace. 

As she grew older, she learned to fill the void. Bright light was a preference and she hoarded the scraps that she could gather. And indeed, she learned. Her brand of brightness had others looking away in derision and, sometimes, envy. That too created something else the void was not as eager to devour. 

Anger. 

It fed on her happiness, her hopes and her dreams, yet left her to feel fury to it’s full range. The emotion dug into her skin, drawing blood and burning. And oh it _burned_. The void _roared_ when she had thought it only capable of consuming and the skin that was so frayed on her limbs tore. 

Her father had not been able to look at her for a long time after the very first incident (and there had been so many after that). In her youth, she had thought it was disgust and Charlie had strove to temper herself as a result. As she aged (yet didn’t for her youth never left her), she began to realize that it had been fear. 

She still dreamed; but, there were days that the dreams followed into the waking world and she wondered if she wasn’t still sleeping ~~or if she had been awake all along.~~

Her mother would ask her, some nights, what she saw staring into absolutely nothing. 

Charlie could never bring herself to put the experience into words (for it was a singular experience). At first, it was because she lacked the vocabulary and understanding to form the syntax. An unconscious part of her was terrified of letting it occupy more room in her than it already took. Later on, it became self preservation.

She did not want the eyes of righteous judgment from her father to join the others that burned through her and demanded…. demanded something she couldn’t give yet. 

There would come a day, Charlie knew, that she would be set aside - apart - from the others and the judgment that had been laid upon the fallen would be set upon her. They would strip her down to her restless core and rip apart what goodness she’d been able to nurture in salted soil. Hard won, was her kindness. Yet it would mean nothing to them. 

It was… it was only a matter of time. 

What terror she felt trembled before the inferno that pushed to and fro like ocean waves under her skin, waiting to lash out at an unsuspecting sinner. It raged in near illegible voices on the worst of days and whispered on the best, so prominent was the one word that could never be quieted. 

_repent_


End file.
